Colors Ch. 01byJoe Wordsworth©
Colors (1981) - Pt. 1 - Crying
Don’t get much nature in the city. What nature comes is usually offensive. Like me. Natural. Offensive.
Wind delivers cat calls and whistles to pretty things walking by. Ran warps floorboards of apartment. Birds use whole city as toilet. Sunshine makes things hot and muggy. Not pleasant. Night somewhat better, though. Wind seems less noisy. Rain useful confounder. Birds good excuse for hearing noise. No sun. Colder.
Been sitting next to dead hobo for four hours. Takes lot of preparation for jobs like this. Lot of patience. Cold. Nobody looks at Hobo. Good place to hide. Looking at hobo is good way to get feelings hurt. Hobo doesn’t have any money. Hobo doesn’t have drugs. Hobo dangerous. Nothing to lose, usually. There is no tomorrow for Hobo.
No tomorrow for Pederast, either.
Probably a joke in there, somewhere. Nobody out at three in the morning on a Tuesday night has a tomorrow. Me, Hobo, Pederast… three dead losers with all the time in the world, tonight, and no time for tomorrow. Pederast won’t see morning. Doesn’t know that, yet. Too busy staring through binoculars at window on second story opposite. Should tell him that. See what happens.
“No tomorrow for you.”
Probably lose mind. Run home. Pray. Cry like babygirl did when he made her suck him off. Eight years old. Scared. Told her not to tell Mommy. Babygirl loves him. Scared of him. Pederast not real father. Just some cock Mommy shacks up with who pays bills. Works at video store. Atheist.
Atheists fuck little children more often than anyone else.
Babygirl won’t like “daddy” dead. Can’t help that. Rather take him out now then have him start sharing cock with boss’s daughter in couple years. Babygirl probably cry at funeral. Don’t guess you can stop cryings, just change reason why.
Hate cases like this. No drama. No fun. No next day crack house rumors. Just pervert. No connections. Just pervert. Could get him help, cure him. Psychobullshit. But, won’t give him satisfaction of Heaven one day. Rather he had Hell now. Grace not deserved by anyone who knows what its like to fuck a child. Old Man’s rules irrational.
Pederast sees me.
Doesn’t know what to think, I bet. Thinks “whatthefuckissat?”. Thinks “nother hobo?”.
Draw finger across throat. Point at Pederast. Smile. Nod. Keep pointing.
Nearly crashed car peeling out. Headed home. Time to cry. Apologize to Babygirl. Can’t catch him on foot. Don’t see how it works in movies. Bounding rooftops, chasing car. Always seem to be in right place at right time. Watched Batman yesterday. Good movie. Batman could be at Pederast’s house when he pulls up. Batman wouldn’t have to sit next to dead Hobo for five hours, waiting. Real life not like movies.
Pederast one of type of people that forgets that. Likes his fantasies. Likes his movies.
Hour walk to Pederast’s house. Doesn’t own gun, checked yesterday while watching movie. Wish I could be there when Pederast talks to Babygirl. Look on face should be priceless. From the mouths of babes…
Babygirl probably say “Did you see the smiley man?”
Pederast panics, “What smiley man?”
“One with big yellow teeth. Big red eyes.”
Pederast will freeze. Remember Hobo and ‘other hobo”. Realization. Terror. Remember seeing me at video store looking at Batman. Probably remember finding Batman in VCR at home this morning, probably remember not knowing why there. More terror.
Ask her “You talk to him?”
She won’t lie. Say yes.
“You tell him about things?”
She won’t lie. Say yes again. Told her to reassure him. She’ll tell him “But says you can change. Get help. Be good. Won’t have to do bad things.”
Pederast will calm. Tell Mommy. Cry. Repent. Promise to change. Promise to go to counselor. Maybe even thank God for second chance. Have line all ready to close it with. Worked on it while sitting with Hobo, waiting.
Creep into Pederast house while sleeping. Easy enough. Not Ft. Knox, really. Stare at him in dark. Let him wake up to sound of laughing. He wake. Mommy wake. Removed light bulb beforehand, so no light. Just eyes. Teeth. Faint streetlight glow through blinds.
“No tomorrow for you.”
Fear. Panic. Terror. “But I can change. Said you wouldn’t have to kill me.”
Then the line. Good line.
“Don’t have to kill you. Want to.”
Will be bloody. Mommy will scream. Stop whoring up with strange men. Take better care of Babygirl. Won’t get charged with murder. No signs of struggle on her. No body will be found. No body, no struggle, no murder. Just blood. Mommy smart. Will clean up in morning. Mommy won’t tell about this, though. Won’t get any credit. Crack dealers won’t hear.
Don’t do jobs like this for returns. Recognition. Do them for me. Personal gratification. Sure Pederast understands.